


Pale Pink

by The_Readers_Muse



Category: The Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead - All Media Types, Walking Dead
Genre: 25 Days of Caryl, 25 Days of Caryl Challenge, F/M, Mild Gore, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, USS Caryl Fanfiction/Fanart Challenge, mild reference to suicidal thoughts, non-explicit reference to violence and death, season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-17
Updated: 2014-09-17
Packaged: 2018-02-17 19:59:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2321498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Readers_Muse/pseuds/The_Readers_Muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Like porcelain gone rogue, it reminded him of her, of matured sweetness and tempered grace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pale Pink

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own AMC's "The Walking Dead," wishful thinking aside.
> 
> Authors Note #1: Written for the USS Caryl's '25 Days of Caryl' Challenge – Day 25 – September 17th: Spring Color Drabble Challenge. I chose: pale pink.
> 
> Warnings: *Contains: fandom appropriate violence, adult language, adult content, mild sexual allusion, character death, reference to suicide/suicidal thoughts.

Memory is a fickle thing. It plays tricks on you. It bends and distorts, making you prone to exaggeration or leaving things out completely. But considering the fact that he'd been all over this God forsaken state, he figured he could say with reasonable certainty – hell to heaven – that he'd never seen anything quite like the stretch of pale that graced her skin - thigh to knee on her left side.

It didn't remind him of a fuckin' rose. It was paler than that. Better.  _Sweeter_. Like porcelain gone rogue, it reminded him of her, of matured sweetness and tempered grace. Of good things frozen in time, unmoved by the passing of the years.

It was how her lower lips parted under the firm pressure of his hand.

It was the flush that stole across her skin just before he made her soar.

It was the press of lips – over-eager and full firming against his.

It was the soft sound she made in her sleep, stretchin' out all smooth and content.

He knew it all by heart.

Every freckle.

Every scar.

And when the walkers took her, ripping and tearing until her insides spilled out across that smooth ivory-down, he mourned the woman - the love, the soul - but he also mourned for the color. For the delicate rose-tapered perfection he'd sworn a thousand times before would be the end of him. And, looking at the Glock in his hand – one shot – cocked - chill metal pressing against his temple – he fingered the trigger and figured it just might be.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N #1: Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – This drabble is complete.


End file.
